


Chances Made

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The single most important event in Dean's life was having his six-month-old brother placed in his arms by his father.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chances Made

**Author's Note:**

> This was betaed to hell and back by shay_renoylds. Anything good about this fic is due to her. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Somehow, I've developed an obsession with the boys pre-show, when they were growing up together. This one had no underaged sex, though it does have talk about it.

The single most important event in Dean's life was having his six-month-old brother placed in his arms by his father. Even when the events of that night blurred with the effects of time and age, that had always remained in sharp relief.

For months afterwards, he refused to sleep apart from Sammy. He was his responsibility, and how could he make sure that he wouldn't just disappear like their mother if he wasn't there to hold on to him? At first, Daddy tried to insist that Dean sleep in his own bed, but as soon as his back was turned, Dean would creep into the makeshift crib that Sam slept in, and eventually Daddy stopped trying to keep them apart.

It took a while, but in due course Dean relaxed a little. As long as his bed was in the same room as Sam's, he was content.

***

"Why can't Dad get an apartment with three bedrooms?" Sam was petulant upon discovering that once again he had to share a room with his brother.

"It's too expensive, Sammy. And it's not like we're here that much any way." Dean had the calm of the knowledgeable older brother. It was an act that he cultivated primarily because it seemed to drive Sam right up the nearest wall. Besides, Sam was more volatile than Dean was, and one of them needed a level head. As they unpacked, he picked the bed closer to the door. He knew that nothing was likely to come in with Dad's protections in place, but it made him feel better. Sam didn't say anything, just shook his head and put his stuff on the other bed.

"It would just be nice to have some privacy, you know?"

Dean turned and grinned at his little brother, who wasn't so little anymore. He was rapidly catching up to Dean in height, even with the four year difference in their ages. "Privacy for what, bro? Inquiring minds want to know."

Sam squirmed and turned his back, returning to sorting out stuff from boxes. "No reason."

But Dean wasn't going to let it go that easy, especially since he could guess what it might be. Sam might only be thirteen, but he looked sixteen easily, and Dean had seen a few of those admiring glances sent his way. He received his own share of attention from the girls, or he might have actually gotten jealous. "No way, Sammy. Spill."

When he didn't answer, Dean did the only thing he could - he tackled Sam to the bed and tickled him viciously, till Sam was panting and squirming. Pinning him down, he bounced lightly on Sam's stomach, only stopping when a very suspicious bulge poked him in the ass. Not really surprising, after all - Sammy was at that age where the slightest bit of stimulation and he would throw a boner, most likely, but he looked absolutely murderous, and Dean backed off, but only far enough to get out of reach.

"Is widdle Sammy gwowin' up? Does he want his pwivacy to whack off?"

"Dean!" Now Sam looked torn between humiliation and anger, with a healthy chunk of embarrassed in there for good measure. Dean took a prudent step backwards. Just because Sam was smaller didn't mean that he didn't pack a mean right hook.

"Look, Sam. I've been there and done that. We've shared a room most of our lives, right? You think I've never jerked off?"

Sam was calming down, and Dean felt safe enough to sit down on the bed. "Do what I do - jerk off in the shower. Or if you absolutely have to do it in bed for some reason, just _tell_ me. I'll go in the other room, or I'll ignore it. It's really not that big a deal, okay?"

"You're going to give me hell about it, I know you."

Dean grinned. "Of course I am - I'm your older brother and that's my job. But I assume that if you heard me jacking it, you'd give _me_ hell. You're the little brother and that's _your_ job."

"Well, yeah." Sam looked like he was actually thinking about what Dean had said, and that's all he could ask for. Dean stood back up and went back to his own bed and boxes.

"Now, let's finish this so we can get Dad to take us to dinner, okay?"

Like it was supposed to, the change in subject worked. Sam was hitting a growth spurt, and was always hungry. He bounced off the bed and started unpacking at a frantic pace, managing to finish well before Dean. When they went out in the other room, though, they were disappointed to find Dad obviously packing his bag to go on a mission.

"Hey, boys. I need to go take care of a poltergeist. You two stay here."

Sam stuck out his lower lip, just as quickly pulling it back in when he obviously remembered the last time he'd pouted to try and get his own way. Having Dean pretend to land an airplane on his lip had apparently stuck with him. "Why can't we go, Dad? We're old enough."

Dean wanted to whine just as badly, but he knew better. If Dad wanted them along, they'd already have their bags packed. "No, son. You've got school starting on Monday, and this early in the semester it wouldn't be good for you to miss. You need to have good solid grades so when I really need you, you can miss a few days."

"Yes, sir," Dean said, and cuffed Sam on the back of the head before he could argue. By the time the impromptu wrestling match was over, Dad was completely packed and handed Dean a twenty.

"Order pizza tonight. Shotgun and pistol are loaded, and I should be back by Tuesday - Wednesday at the latest."

"Yes, sir."

After Dad had left, he and Sam messed around for a while, and then he ordered that pizza while Sam disappeared into the shower with a blush and ducked head. It was really tempting to give him hell, because he couldn't have been more obvious about what he was going to do if he _tried_, but there were certain lines Dean wouldn't cross, and that was one of them.

They stayed up late, watching movies and bullshitting each other, but eventually Sam fell asleep on the couch. Smiling, Dean picked him up and carried him to bed. He debated taking a shower of his own, but figured, what the hell? Sammy was asleep.

Sliding under the blankets of his freshly made bed, he got comfortable and was just getting started enjoying the festivities when a sound from the other bed made him freeze. "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?" He tried to keep his voice stable, but he couldn't help that some strain leaked through. Why hadn't he taken that shower?

"You okay?"

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm fine. Go back to sleep."

"Can't. Had a nightmare." And now that Dean listened he could hear the tell tale sounds of stress in his brother's voice that told him he was holding back tears.

Sighing silently and giving his dick a mental apology, he raised his blanket high. "C'mon over, bro. You can sleep with me."

Sam practically flew across the few feet between their beds, burrowing under the blankets and into Dean's side. "Sorry, Dean. I'm sorry."

Dean kissed his hair softly. As mature as Sam was, sometimes it was easy to forget that in some ways he was still just a kid. "It's okay, Sammy. Just close your eyes and go to sleep."

It didn't take long for Sam to do just that, but Dean stared at the ceiling for a long time, trying to pretend to himself that he wasn't affected by the presence of a warm body in bed with him, pressed up against him. It would be wrong to take advantage of Sam's trust and innocence.

Finally, he drifted off to uneasy dreams of his own.

***

"God dammit, Dad! I've got things to do this weekend. I'm not going with you and that's final!"

Dean focused on reassembling his gun, trying to ignore the sounds of the fight in the next room. He was getting pretty good at that, if he did say so himself. Of course, given that Dad and Sam couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without fighting, he was getting a lot of practice at it.

The sound of the door slamming jerked his attention back, just in time to have Sam come storming in and throw himself on the bed. "Dad left. Apparently since I don't want to go hunting ghosts this weekend, I'm not _mature_ enough to stay home by myself, so he left you here too."

"Fuck, Sam. I wanted to go with him and you knew it. You couldn't go along, just once, without being a pain in the ass?"

"Fuck off. I never wanted to do this in the first place. It's not my fault that Dad's obsessed!"

Dean started to snap back, but instead counted to ten. In Latin. If this escalated, the two of them would be fighting all weekend, and wouldn't that just be the capper on a fucked up day? "Look, I know you don't like going hunting, but you're good at it. And you used to beg to go."

"That was before I figured out that there was more to life than making Daddy happy. There's school, and friends, and girls - all the things that I have no time for because every weekend is taken up with his god damned quest!"

Slamming his mouth shut, Dean stood up and picked up his gun. He was not going to feed into this - he wasn't. Sam snorted, and Dean's temper broke. Turning, he faced Sam. "I'm going in the other room. You stay here until you get over your temper tantrum. I don't want to see you until your attitude's improved."

"You're not my father, Dean, and I'm not going to listen to you."

"Of course you won't - you won't even listen to him. But the difference is that if you come out of this room without losing the attitude? _I'll_ kick your ass. So, get over it. I'm not spending the weekend with an immature little brat." Without another word, he turned his back on Sam and started out to the living room. He braced himself though, and wasn't surprised when Sam's weight landed on his back.

It was only a moment for Dean to drop the pieces of his gun, flip him, and then pin him to the floor. "You may be taller than me, jackass, but I've still got four years and twenty pounds on you. You. Will. Lose."

Sam lay there, looking shocked for a long moment, then rolled to his feet and ducked into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Dean sighed and shook his head, heading into the living room to finish reassembling his gun and figure out something for dinner.

He gave up and made macaroni and cheese. It was something that Sam adored, even though he wouldn't admit it. Dishing it up, he went and knocked on the bedroom door. "Sammy? Dinner's ready." There wasn't an answer. Dean shrugged and went back to the kitchen.

As he sat at the table, picking at the bright orange food, something nagged at him about how quiet the apartment was. Sam wasn't arguing, and that was good. But at the same time... Sam wasn't arguing. Sam always argued these days. Standing up, he went back to the bedroom.

"Sam?" No answer. Maybe for once Sam had decided to listen. Dean was just about to go back to the kitchen and leave Sam to his sulk, but there was something odd about the silence, so he turned back and opened the door. One quick look was all it took. Sam was gone.

A fast search of the room showed that he'd taken his blades with him, so at least Sam wasn't out on the streets unarmed, but he'd left behind his gun. A more detailed one showed that some of his clothes were missing, as was all the money that they kept in their dresser.

"That stupid little shit!" Dean swore, going out to pick up his own gun and the keys to the apartment. Heading out on the street, he checked the fire escape first, hoping against hope that Sam was sitting on it and sulking, but luck was against him tonight.

Dean ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out where Sam would have gone. They only had about eighty bucks, so flying was out of the question, but the bus station wasn't that far. He started jogging towards it, mind awhirl with everything that could possibly go after Sam.

He was smart - almost too smart. He was cocky, thinking that nothing could hurt him. And that made him a prime target. Not just for the various boogey monsters that they hunted, but also for the much more mundane danger of people. And since right now Sam was angry, he wouldn't be thinking. That meant he was in danger.

Really starting to worry, Dean picked up the pace. He was so focused on getting to the bus station that he almost missed it - movement in an alley where there shouldn't have been any. He started to ignore it, figuring it to be a homeless guy or maybe a dog. After all, if he wanted to be sure to catch Sam before he managed to get on a bus, he needed to get there fast.

But something made him slow, and then back up, looking down the alley cautiously. He knew that he was outlined in sharp relief at the entrance of the alley, and he moved to one side to lessen how much of a target he made. Studying the area closely, he didn't see or hear anything for a long moment, and then there was a gasp, as if someone was crying.

"Hello?" His call was greeted with a startled noise and then silence. "Anyone back there? Are you hurt?"

"Dean?" Sam's voice quavered and broke. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"Come on out, bro. I'm here now."

"I don't think I can stand up."

Dean slowly made his way into the dark passage; hand on the butt of his gun in case it wasn't actually Sam. One look at the figure crumpled on the ground made him forget his caution. "Sam! What happened?"

"I got jumped. They took all our money, and I think they may have broken my arm." Now that Dean could see clearly in the dim light, he could see bruises and dirt all over Sam's face, liberally crossed with tear tracks.

"It's okay, Sam, let me see." It took a bit of urging to get Sam to hold out his arm, but when he did, there was no question it was broken - it looked like he had a second wrist in the middle of his forearm. "It looks like you've earned yourself a trip to the ER, Sammy."

Sam stared up at him with wide eyes. "Dad's gonna kill me."

"Probably, but if we can get you taken care of tonight, maybe he'll be happy to just yell at you. Can you stand? Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I - I don't think so." Carefully, Dean eased Sam to his feet and ducked to get his shoulder underneath Sam's uninjured arm. Checking to make sure that he had his wallet with the credit card that Dad gave him for emergencies, he led Sam out to the street. Taking as much of Sam's weight as he could, he started up the road, hoping for a taxi.

His luck seemed to match Sam's, though, and there weren't any, so they had to walk the mile or so to the emergency clinic. By the time they got there, he was practically carrying Sam. As the door opened, one of the nurses came rushing out. "What happened?"

"He was mugged. Careful - I'm pretty sure his arm is broken."

The nurse got a wheelchair and brought it out for Sam. "Are you - who are you?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm his older brother - our father is out of town and unreachable, but I can pay for his bill."

The nurse shook her head. "That's not the problem, honey. He's underaged, and we can't treat him without consent from your dad."

Shit. Dean thought fast. His dad had talked about getting the paperwork done so that he could authorize stuff for Sam, but he'd never actually done it. Time to lie and hope that the nurse would buy it. "Oh - I, uh, I have a power of attorney at home. But I really don't want to leave him alone."

The nurse looked from Dean to Sam and back again. As if that was his cue, Sam started to cry as if his heart was breaking. Shaking her head, she said, "No, it's alright. You're his brother and we're going to want you here while we treat him."

As the nurse turned to go to the triage area, Sam's tears dried up. Bending down, Dean whispered in his ear. "Good job, Sammy."

Sam whispered back, "Thanks. But we have another problem - I need you to lift my knives - they're under my sweatshirt and they're going to show up on the X-rays."

"Aw, crap." Just then, an orderly came to get Sam, wheeling them into a small curtained alcove. They were left there for a few minutes, and Dean took advantage of the relative privacy to transfer them to his own belt. "We're gonna talk later about how they managed to break your arm without you ever drawing these."

Sighing, Sam nodded. "Yeah, I know. I suck."

"Nope, but there are tricks you don't know yet. We can - " He broke off as the doctor walked into the cubicle.

He poked and prodded and examined damn near every inch of Sam before sending him for X-rays to tell them what they already knew - both of the bones in his arm were broken. At least it was a clean break, though they had to sedate Sam in order to set them.

Five hours later, Dean walked out of the ER and hailed a cab. Sam could barely walk, and Dean wasn't looking forward to trying to get him up the stairs at home. By the time they got there, though, it really wasn't an issue. Sam was in enough pain that it had burned right through the sedation, and he made the walk mostly under his own power.

Dean got him settled on the couch, and debated letting it just drop for the night. But Sam was fidgeting, looking anywhere but at Dean, and he knew that Sam was expecting to be in trouble, and he _was_, but not for the reason that Sam probably suspected. "So, what happened?"

Staring at the floor, Sam answered in a monotone. "I got mugged."

"I know that, Sammy. What I meant was, how did you let them get you in a position to do this to you?"

Sam looked upset and a little frustrated. "I wasn't paying attention and they rushed me - pulled me in the alley and kicked the shit out of me. It wasn't like I was walking down the street with a great big 'mug me' sign on."

"Wrong. If you weren't paying attention, then you might as well have been wearing one. Haven't you learned _anything_ in the last ten years?"

Sam opened his mouth as if he was going to yell back, but then he wilted into the couch, fiddling with the cast on his arm. "You're right. I was mad and not thinking and that was stupid of me. I just was so _angry_ and thought... well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I just wanted some space."

Dean sat down on the couch next to Sam, trying to make his voice low and soothing. "No, it does matter. What were you thinking, Sammy?"

He was quiet for so long that Dean thought he wasn't going to answer, but then Sam sighed and said, "I thought that if I wasn't here anymore then you and Dad would be better off. It's not like either of you actually need me." He lifted up the cast, as if for emphasis. "Guess I was right, too, huh? You had to save me from myself again."

Taking a moment to think, he tried to come up with something to say that wouldn't make the situation worse. "You're important to us, Sam. Dad isn't a hardass on you just to be a hardass, but because he thinks you could be good at this, and because he wants you safe. Same for me, you know? And of course I'm going to step in and help when you're in over your head. I'm your _brother_."

Sam looked completely woebegone, and Dean felt his heart melt. He knew that no matter what, he'd do anything for his brother. It was too bad that it took something like this for Sam to figure it out. "I'm sorry, Dean. Sorry that you got stuck taking care of me this weekend, and sorry that I lost my temper and did something so stupid."

Dean couldn't help it. He snickered. "He _can_ be taught, ladies and gentlemen. It wasn't that you lost your temper - it was that you let it drive you to do something as dumb as run out without paying proper attention to your surroundings." Dean could have kept lecturing - Sam had scared the _shit_ out of him - but it was obvious that Sam knew what he'd done was stupid, and if he kept hammering he'd just drive that message out of Sam's head.

"Alright, Sam. It's been a long day, and your arm is going to start hurting if it hasn't already, so let's get you cleaned up and into bed, okay?"

Nodding tiredly, Sam climbed to his feet and then wavered uncertainly, looking from the cast on his _right_ arm to the bathroom and back. "Um, Dean?"

"Gonna need some help there, sparky?"

Sam bristled, but answered meekly enough. "I'm not going to be able to wash my face or anything. Please?"

Dean took mercy on him. It was a hard way to learn a lesson, but maybe it would work to finally get the message through his thick head. "C'mon, Sam. I'll help you."

Together, they went into the bathroom, and with Sam sitting on the toilet, Dean used a washcloth to dab away the dirt on his face. He helped him undress, and hissed in sympathy at the bruises over his torso. "What did they do, bro? Knock you down and kick you?"

Sam nodded miserably, face drawn and white from pain. Dean rushed through finishing the clean up, and helped Sam climb into a fresh t-shirt and boxers before giving him one of the pain pills from the hospital.

In the bedroom, Sam started towards his own bed, but stopped and looked at Dean. "Do you - do you think that maybe I could sleepwithyoutonight?"

It took Dean a moment to puzzle out his meaning, but then smiled softly. It had to be at least two years since Sam had wanted to share his bed. Maybe this really would be a turning point for his brother - help him figure out what was really important. "Sure, Sammy. Worried about nightmares?"

"Uh huh." Dean helped him climb into the small bed, propping his arm up on a pillow. Sam was already blinking sleepily, the pain pill taking effect quickly. "Go to sleep, Sam. I'll be back in a few minutes." Nestling into the blankets, Sam blinked once or twice more, then his eyes fell shut and he was asleep.

Dean rushed through his clean up and then went to bed. He was just in time to be treated to Sam crying softly in his sleep. Unsure of whether it was physical or emotional pain, Dean wasn't sure what to do, but when he carefully fitted himself behind Sam and held him loosely, he quieted. He breathed in the smell of his little brother - shampoo and fear and the drugs that he'd been given, and let his body relax.

Sometime later, he woke up. Dazed and confused, he held still, trying to figure out what was going on. There was someone in his bed, someone wrapped up close behind him. At first he wondered if it was a girl, but when a very definite presence poked him in the ass, he remembered. Sam running away, getting hurt - sleeping in his bed!

"Sam? Sammy?" he whispered, not sure if he was awake.

"Hmm?" came the response.

Unfortunately, it wasn't enough for him to be able to tell if Sam was actually awake or just dreaming, though he decided it was the latter when Sam started to thrust against him. "Sam, stop."

But now Sam had one hand on his hip and was moaning as he pushed against Dean. If it had been anyone but his younger brother, Dean would have gone along with it, but it _wasn't_ anyone else. "Sam! Wake up!" Now he made no effort to lower his voice.

"Huh? What?" Sam startled behind him, and Dean turned to face him.

"I think you were dreaming, Sammy."

Even in the dark, Dean could see the faint flush that colored Sam's cheeks as he obviously caught on to what was happening. "Yeah, I guess... I guess I was." His voice was soft, reluctant.

"It's okay. It wasn't that long ago I was fifteen, you know. No big de-"

He was cut off by Sam leaning forward and kissing him. Jerking backwards, he landed on his ass on the floor. Stunned, he stared up at Sam. "What the hell?"

"Nothing." Sam tried to roll the other way, but the cast got in the way.

Dean scrambled to his feet and went around the bed so he could kneel in front of Sam, where he couldn't avoid his eyes. "Talk to me, Sam. You don't get to kiss me and then tell me it was nothing."

It didn't stop Sam from trying to look away, though. "I was confused. I'm sorry."

Hooking his fingers under Sam's chin, Dean gently forced him to look at him. "I'm not mad, Sammy." He really wasn't. He'd been in that half asleep state where you weren't sure if you were awake or dreaming more than once, but he was more than a little disturbed by the fact that Sam wanted to kiss him even if it had been in a dream. "If you're going to tell me - honestly - that you were confused, I'll accept that. But I don't think you were - I think you knew exactly who I was before you even decided to kiss me, and I'd like to know why."

Sam closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment, then opened them. Licking his lips, he leaned forward till his lips were only a few inches from Dean's ear. "Because I've wanted to kiss you for a long time."

The hell? "You're my brother, Sam."

"Way to state the obvious, moron. I _know_ that."

"Well, why do you want to kiss me? You don't kiss your brother like that, Sammy."

Sam threw his arm over his face and fell backwards on the bed. "I don't know - don't know why I wanted to. I just do!"

Now Dean was really confused. "I thought you liked girls? Isn't that why you wanted to stay home this weekend?"

"I do - they just don't like _me_!" Now this Dean could handle - Sam was whining again.

"I don't know why they wouldn't like you, Sam. It's not like you're an annoying little brother or anything... Oh, wait, you are!"

Sam glared at him from his position on the bed, and Dean couldn't help but laugh. "You look like a real drama queen, there, Sammy."

Sitting back up, Sam looked serious and almost grown up for the first time since this surreal conversation started. "I know it's fucked up, Dean, but I want you. I want to kiss you and touch you and do... stuff."

Dean rocked back on his heels from the force of the conviction in Sam's voice. "I - I don't know what to say, Sam. You're my brother, man. I've never thought about doing anything with you - never even wanted to." Okay, it was a lie, but it was a white one, and that was the important part. Sam wasn't thinking clearly, and that was all there was to it.

"But it's not because I'm a guy. I know you've been with other guys before."

Dean could feel his face heating up. "How - what - how? How do you know that?"

"Oh, please. I'm younger than you but I'm still smarter. Besides, I saw you kissing one of your poker buddies."

Burying his face in his hands, Dean swore, long and creatively. He couldn't believe that Sam had actually caught him out. If Dad found out, he'd kill him. First issues first, though. He had to deal with this... this thing with Sam. Looking up and meeting Sam's eyes, he said, "Well, that doesn't change the fact that you're my brother."

"I know that. But I want you - I don't care if it makes me a sick pervert or something."

Dean thought as fast as he could, trying to figure out what to do here. He didn't want to hurt Sam's feelings, but there was no way that he was going to give him what he wanted, especially when it was probably just the drugs. Finally he came up with a solution. "Have you ever slept with _anyone_, Sammy?"

Sam blushed but kept his eyes locked on Dean's. "No."

"All right. I'll tell you what. Give it some time; see if you can get laid. I'm betting that this is mostly that you're horny, and if you get laid you'll discover that you don't really want me. _If_ you do and you still want me, we'll talk about it, okay?"

"It's not because I'm just horny, Dean!"

"Sammy - "

Sam huffed out a breath, "Fine. But if I get laid and still want you, you'll hear me out? Do you promise?"

"Do I promise? What are we, a couple of girls? But fine. You have sex with something besides your hand, and we'll talk about it."

"That's a deal."

The two of them shook on it, awkward as it was for Sam. "You think you can sleep now?"

Sam looked a little concerned. "I'm... I'd still rather stay here, if that's okay? I promise, nothing will happen."

Dean just smiled and ruffled Sam's hair. "It's fine, Sammy. Now lie down and go to sleep, okay? Your arm isn't going heal without rest."

He did as he was told, and Dean crawled carefully into the bed. He didn't want to encourage Sam, but he didn't want to punish him either. Just because Sam didn't seem to get the fact that they were brothers and that kind of thing was wrong... Not really surprising, when he considered the way they grew up. Oh, well. Sam would get laid and the problem would go away.

Dean pretended to himself that the solution made him happy.

***

"You stupid bastard!" Sam slammed Dean back into the car. "What the hell were you thinking? Or were you thinking at all?"

Dean shoved Sam away from him. "I'm _fine_, Sam - it worked, didn't it?"

"It nearly _killed_ you, you... you _idiot_. And then what would I have done? Called Dad and said, 'Oops, sorry, I got your favorite son killed because he wouldn't let me get his back?' Have to find a way to put _your_ spirit to rest?"

"Sam, stop. You're acting like a hysterical teenage girl."

Sam looked murderous for a split second, then changed his grip on Dean's shirt and shoved him against the car again. This time, he pushed in with his whole body and kissed Dean hard, cracking their teeth together and splitting his lip. Then he dropped his hands and backed up, a whole range of expressions flying across his face but ending on defiant.

Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, Dean spent a moment looking at the red streak left behind. Then he looked back up at Sam. "Get in the car."

Sam looked like he was going to refuse, but then he got in and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass. Arms crossed across his chest, he said nothing as Dean turned it on and steered silently towards the motel. Once there, Dean turned the car back off and got out without saying anything to Sam, simply going inside and leaving Sam to sit in the car.

Dean went to clean the cut on his shoulder from the demon. It was long, and deep, and probably could have benefited from stitches, but that would come too close to admitting that Sam had been right. He avoided looking in the mirror as much as possible, and when he was finally forced to in order to place the butterfly strips, he stared hard at the cut so that he wouldn't see how swollen his lips were from that one brief, fierce kiss.

Just as he finished bandaging the cut, there was a timid knock at the bathroom door. "Dean, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam." Dean sat down on the toilet and stared at the floor. He'd thought that Sam had gotten over the urge to kiss him when he was fifteen. He'd known for a fact that it hadn't been six months before Sam had gotten a girlfriend, and he'd always assumed that had been the end of it. He'd never questioned that part of him that regretted it, either.

"You're lying. Let me in so I can look at your shoulder."

"I said I'm fine. Leave me alone."

There was a rattling at the door, and then silence. Dean wasn't really surprised when the door sprang open, with Sam on his knees, having picked the lock. "What part of 'leave me alone' did you miss, Sam?"

"The part where I can actually do that. Now let me take a look at that cut."

"I've already taken care of it. Leave me the hell alone."

Sam looked up from where he was kneeling on the floor. "Not a chance in hell. We need to talk."

Dean sighed and grabbed his t-shirt, only to swear when he realized how ruined it was. "Fuck. Fine. Do you think that you could let me get dressed first?"

Standing easily, Sam shrugged. "It's up to you - I've seen it before, you know."

Yeah, he had, and wasn't that just part of the problem? Dean had no problem with being shirtless in front of Sam, but he suspected that this conversation was going to go places that he didn't want to think about, and for that, dressed was better. Pulling on a non-ruined shirt, he swore when he had to lift his arm. Damn cut was going to make life hell for the next few days.

Finally he couldn't put it off anymore, so he sat at the small table and propped his feet up on the bed, lacing his fingers over his chest. "What?"

Now that he was looking right at Sam, he seemed to have lost his tongue. "Um, well..."

"Just spit it out, already, Sam."

Sam stuttered and stammered, but finally got out, "I'm sorry I split your lip."

"That still doesn't explain why you fucking kissed me in the first place - I thought you got over that crush when you were fifteen." Dean could remember that night clearly, but Sam had never taken him up on his offer to do something about it if Sam got laid first. He'd tried to put it out of his head and convince himself that he'd done the right thing.

"Not hardly," Sam muttered, and then glared at him, as if daring him to make something of it. "I never got over it - and it wasn't a damn schoolgirl crush. I just... accepted that I couldn't have what I wanted."

Dean felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "What do you mean, never got over it? You dated all through high school - hell, what about Jessica?"

"I dated because you told me to, you asshole!" Sam's voice rose, then fell again as he clearly struggled to control his emotions. "Jess was - I loved Jess, but when I met her, I was lonely and frightened and the one person who I'd always counted on was gone."

And the punches just kept right on coming. "I didn't leave you, Sam - you left us."

"And that right there was part of why I had to leave. It was always 'us' - you and dad. There wasn't any room for me, not anymore." Sam's voice was almost a monotone, so soft that Dean could barely hear him.

"God, Sammy - why didn't you tell me that you felt that way? You're my brother; of course I fucking love you. If I'd known you were so stupid as to doubt that, well, I just wonder how you got into college."

Sam shrugged. "Doesn't matter. What happened, happened. You didn't want me the way that I wanted you, and you made that perfectly clear when I was fifteen. Look, I'm sorry I kissed you, and if you ever put yourself at risk like that again just to cover my ass, I'll kick yours. Are we clear?"

"No, we're fucking well not. Are you saying that you've wanted, what? To sleep with me all these years? I _told_ you to come back after you'd gotten laid if you still wanted it, and you didn't bother, so I figured you'd gotten over it!"

Mouth moving, but no sound coming out, Sam sat there, stunned. But it didn't matter to Dean, who was on a roll. "Dammit, Sammy, you were just a kid. A horny teenager who had just hit on his _older fucking brother_. Was I supposed to take advantage of you? Risk hurting you worse? Tell me what I could have done different, because I sure as shit did the best I could!"

Sam sat there; eyes squeezed shut for a long moment, then came up on his feet, grabbed the front of Dean's shirt and said, "This. You could have done this," and kissed him.

This one wasn't as hard as the last, but it was just as fierce, as determined. Dean held himself back, refused to react, till Sam's tongue came out and tapped lightly at his lips, asking entry. Then, with a soft moan, he opened his mouth.

The kiss was long, and heated, and when it finally ended Sam started to say something. Dean cut him off, though. "One question, Sam. Do you still want me?"

The answer, when it came, was a simple yes.

This time, it was Dean who grabbed Sam, standing up and shoving him backwards at the same time, ignoring the way it pulled at the cut on his shoulder. Sam sprawled on his back on the bed, with Dean following him down. He didn't hesitate about kissing Sam again, reveling in the taste.

It had been so long since he'd kissed another guy, and even longer since that last desperate kiss from Sam, and all the feelings that he'd ignored, that he'd repressed for so long came pouring out.

There was nothing soft about the kiss, nothing gentle or chaste. This was aggression and need tangled up together in a mix so strong that Dean couldn't have stopped if he wanted to. And god, how he didn't want to. He wanted to move into Sam's mouth, wanted to take up kissing him twenty-four hours a day.

But demands of the body will out, and the cut over his shoulder throbbed warning just before his arm collapsed, dumping him on top of Sam with a groan. "Ow, fuck..."

Sam chuckled, a hoarse, throaty sound. Then he was rolling as Sam shifted under him, till they were both lying on their sides, and their mouths met again.

_This_ was much better. Now he could touch as well as taste, and he did, hands sliding under Sam's shirt, pushing it up so that he could feel the fine muscles move under the skin of his back. Sam broke the kiss long enough to sit up and tear his shirt off, and Dean froze. He saw Sam shirtless all the time, but this time... this had meaning. This wasn't them changing or getting ready for bed, this was them stripping so that they could touch each other.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah... we're really going to do this, aren't we?" Dean whispered.

Sam laid a hand on his face. Dean could feel the calluses from his gun, from practicing with his knives. "Yeah, we really are." Then he leaned down and kissed him.

_This_ kiss was different. It promised and gave its word that whatever happened was with Sam's complete and utter consent.

As if that had been the one thing that he'd been waiting for, Dean grabbed Sam with his good arm and rolled them so that Sam was on top of him. Spreading his legs, he moaned at the sensation of pressure against his cock. Sam pushed up on his arms, and then knelt, ignoring the way that Dean tried to pull him down, but he stopped when he realized what Sam was trying to do.

Carefully, Sam eased his shirt up and off, so that Dean barely felt a twinge in his shoulder, and when Sam ducked his head and started nipping at his chest, he didn't care anyway. He didn't know what to do with his hands at first, but when that talented mouth found his nipple, he wound them through Sam's hair and tugged him up so that he could kiss him some more.

Hands found their way to zippers and buttons, and both pairs of pants were worked off. At the first touch of skin to skin, Sam pulled back, gripping the base of his cock fiercely. "What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asked, chuckling.

"Shut up, you bastard. Let's see a decade old fantasy come to life for you and see if you don't have a bit of trouble controlling yourself."

This time, Dean's laugh was heartier. "Who says it isn't?"

Sam's face, always open, showed shock and then anger. "You've wanted me that long and you never said anything?"

"Dude, we've been through this already. If you want to fix it, now's your chance."

He opened his mouth to argue, and then clearly changed his mind. Sam's hands locked on his hips, and his mouth dipped down, and _oh, holy Christ! _

His mouth was wet, and hot, and as he sucked at the head of Dean's cock, Dean could feel his eyes rolling back in his head, and there was an annoying sound coming from somewhere. Dean really wished whoever was making it would just shut the fuck up already, but then he realized it was him.

 

It didn't matter - none of it mattered. All that mattered was the sensation of Sam's mouth on him. A fine layer of sweat sprung out all over his body, and his eyes sagged shut as he groaned.

Dean's hands tangled in Sam's hair again, and he tried to thrust up into his mouth. He could only barely move, though, and with a groan, he gave up, letting Sam move however he wanted as long as he didn't fucking stop. Sam seemed to sense that he'd given up, and started to slowly move up and down his cock, going deeper on each pass.

He was losing himself in the sensation, when Sam stopped and lifted his head. Dean whimpered and swore when Sam looked up at him, licking his lips. "You got anything slick, Dean?"

Oh, god, oh, god, ohgodohgodohgod... "Yeah," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Yeah, in my shaving kit." Sam's weight disappeared and Dean closed his eyes, listening as Sam rustled around in the bathroom. He seemed to be taking forever, but Dean focused on his breathing and refused to panic. He had to trust that if Sam were having second thoughts he would tell him...

Just as he decided that he was going to see what was wrong anyway, Sam came back out, carrying his tube of lube. He had to bite his lip as he watched Sam walk - fuck, he'd grown up to be a gorgeous man, not that Dean would ever tell him that.

When Sam straddled his legs, he was puzzled. How the hell was Sam going to fuck him like that? Then a slick hand circled his cock, and his brain stopped wondering anything. "Yeah, Sam... don't stop... feels so fucking good..."

Sam was moving, was shifting, and the grip on his dick moved down and got harder, and Dean didn't know how much more he could take... and then he was sliding inside Sam, and his eyes flew open in a panic. "Sam!"

His eyes were closed, and he was still moving slowly as he slid down Dean's cock. "It's... it's okay... God... it's good..." And then Sam's ass was firmly against his hips and it was hot and slick and all he could do was clutch desperately at him and try to keep him from moving because if he did so much as breathe, Dean was going to come.

"Don't - dear god, don't move," Dean whispered.

Sam opened his eyes and smiled. "It's all good, Dean." He lifted up a little, then settled back again. Dean gasped and clutched tighter at his hips. When he finally felt like he could move, he let one hand drift up and tweak one of Sam's nipples.

That seemed to even the playing field somewhat, as Sam twitched and bit his lip. Dean reached up a little further and tugged on Sam's shoulder till he came down so they could kiss.

And then things started to move faster, Sam riding him while kissing him deeply, and Dean worked a hand in between them so he could touch Sam's cock for the first time. Sam broke away to bury his face in Dean's neck. "Oh, yes, oh, please..." he begged.

Dean's hips seemed to have a life of their own as he thrust up into Sam hard, still stroking his cock. "Gonna come for me, Sammy? Gonna give it up?"

Sam whimpered and rocked his hips down as with a moan he came over Dean's hand. He clenched tight and Dean's thrusts up became urgent, desperate, and within seconds he was coming as well.

Sam collapsed forward, catching himself on one hand, but only barely. Dean smiled at the breathless Sam, then reached out and pushed the elbow of the arm that was holding Sam up. He fell, swearing, and Dean laughed tiredly.

"That... might have just killed me, dude."

Sam slid off him and turned on his side, propping his head up on his hand and looking at him curiously. Dean bit his lip at how young Sam looked like that. "Why would it have killed you?"

"Because first time sex isn't supposed to be that fucking hot."

"See what denial can do for you?" Sam snickered.

"Shut up, you bastard." Dean carefully turned to face Sam and kissed him softly, wincing as the butterfly bandages tugged on his skin. Somehow, miraculously, his shoulder hadn't reopened but it sure hurt like a motherfucker. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam smiled and kissed him right back. "More than okay. I'm a little worried about you, though."

"About me? Why?"

Sam slid backwards, getting some space between them, "Because you've turned into a chick flick when I wasn't looking."

Dean grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at Sam. "If you've got enough energy to give me hell, go get a washcloth to clean us up, okay?"

Laughing, Sam slid off the bed and bent low, "Oh, yes, great master. I hear and obey!"

Grabbing the other pillow, Dean threatened Sam with it. Sam put up his hands and went off to the bathroom. A few moments later he came back with a wet washcloth, which he smacked Dean with.

"Well, I guess I'll take this to mean that the honeymoon is over?" Dean took the cloth and wiped himself down, throwing the wet cloth on the floor when he was done.

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Then Sam said, "You know, I never expected this. But thank you."

"Who's being a chick now? But for what it's worth - neither did I. And you know, you're not half bad in the sack."

Sam picked up the pillow and smacked Dean in the face with it. "Are we going to..." He motioned at the space between them in a question.

"Yeah, I think we are. I really do think we are."


End file.
